


We Were Angels Once

by teamchaosprez



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy
Genre: 1812, Bisexual Female Character, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/F, Falling In Love, Forbidden Love, Lesbian Character, Letters, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pining, Post-Canon, Russian Empire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-25 20:00:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13220151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teamchaosprez/pseuds/teamchaosprez
Summary: Dear Natasha, I am in great despair at the misunderstanding there is between us. Whatever my father's feelings might be, I beg you to believe I cannot help loving you...





	We Were Angels Once

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first time writing great comet fanfiction... i listen to the musical like three times a day though

_ Dear Natasha. _

Before Mary could even write past the first line, she was saved by the grating sound of her father’s voice calling her name from the other room. She started, but put down her quill nonetheless, rising to her feet as the order to fetch some wine for Pierre and Andrei was snapped out, prepared to obey - that seemed to be her only purpose in life, to obey the orders of her aging father. Perhaps that was the reason that she was so nervous to compose a letter for the countess she had been unable to shake from her thoughts. Perhaps that was the reason for the odd feeling in her chest.

The wine was retrieved from the cabinet and the tray and wine glasses were sorted out. She began to walk into the sitting room to serve it, but stilled before she could pass through the doorway, choosing to stand against the wall and listen in on the conversation between the two men when she heard Natasha’s name. She knew that the wedding had been called off, but that was all - she couldn’t think of a reason why they would still be having a conversation about her. She was determined to find out.

“She is so broken apart and tormented, Andrei,” was what Pierre was saying, his voice sounding so sad - but still more hopeful than Mary had thought was possible in the years she’d known him. “She asked me to tell you to forgive her - she still loves you, I can see it in her eyes. I don’t think she ever loved Anatole - it was simply loneliness and desperation that convinced her that she did.” This was odd. If Mary remembered right, he had been one of the most angry at Natasha following the affair, calling her a foolish child and all that. Why was he the one asking her brother to forgive?

“If I could hold it together while I was at war, she could have waited for me.” Her brother’s voice was tired, full of the quiet rage that frightened most that would upset him. “I cannot forgive her, and I do not care how desperately she begs me to. Maybe your marriage has made you blind, but I’m not about to throw myself back to the love of a whore. I’ll find somebody else in good time, and I’m sure someday she’ll locate someone who will be more forgiving towards her affairs.”

Although she couldn’t completely understand why, Mary longed to walk into the room and argue; tell them that Natasha was a good girl, if a little naive and vain, and that she agreed with Pierre - that one should forgive something that never culminated in sexual intercourse or that never truly evolved past the point of no return. She had met Anatole - she knew that he was charming and charismatic, and that it probably wouldn’t have been hard for him to woo such a fine young thing. Still, she knew that might be seen as a sign of disrespect by her father, so she just entered the room with wine and tray in hand.

The men fell silent when she walked in and put the tray down on the table between them, putting a wine glass in front of each of them. She poured Andrei’s first, and then went to do the same for Pierre, but stopped suddenly when he put a hand up and shook his head. “None for me, Mary, thank you,” he spoke simply, giving her a small but gentle smile. Confusion settled in her mind, remembering Pierre to be quite fond of his alcohol, but nonetheless she nodded and put the wine down beside Andrei’s glass.

“What have you been thinking of today, sweet sister?” Andrei asked her, the anger gone from his voice. He was one of very few people that treated her with gentle kindness, and she would always appreciate her brother, regardless of how annoyed she was with him for being so cold towards Countess Rostova. “You’ve been locked away in the office all day. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so intent on having your privacy.” He raised an eyebrow at her, then, as if jokingly suspicious, and although Mary knew he wouldn’t press her for details, she couldn’t help but blush.

“I am composing a letter,” was all she responded with, not wanting to be too open about it. She was well aware that he would assume she was writing a secret suitor, but she couldn’t really bring herself to care about what he would think. It was probable that he would never bring it up again, considering their father’s tendency to ruin any chance she had at marrying - not that marrying was necessarily high up on the list of things she would be able to do.

Andrei nodded, bringing the glass up to his lips and taking a sip of the red liquid before putting it back down and gesturing for Mary to approach him. That she did, gathering her skirt in her hands so that she could step around the table and lean toward her brother until her ear was close to his lips. “I’ve noticed how much Father has changed towards you while I’ve been away,” he murmured to her. “I’m your older brother, and I don’t care how much more control he has, I’m taking charge of you. If you ever have a suitor that wants to ask for your hand, you send him to me, and I’ll make a smarter decision so that you won’t have to be stuck doing his chores for the rest of your life.”

She blinked, a little startled, before pulling her head away from Andrei’s and staring at him with widened eyes. All her brother did was give her a small, sly smile, and without worrying about what Pierre would think, she leaned forward to embrace him. “Thank you,” she whispered softly to him and allowed him to give her a small squeeze before she pulled away to retreat back to the office.

She didn’t have the heart to tell him that marriage was not an option with the way she was feeling right now, nor did she feel the need to tell him that their father would, more likely than not, see it as a sign of disrespect and cut him off accordingly. She was too grateful to even consider saying those words to her kind, kind brother - not until she absolutely had to, she affirmed to herself as she returned to the office and pulled out the desk chair, ready to continue composing her letter to Natasha.

_ Dear Natasha, _

_ I have heard of your relationship with my brother ending, and I am sending this letter of condolence to you. I have been unable to get you out of my head since you came to have tea with my father and I, and I think that, although I am a woman and it would be of great dishonor to admit it, these thoughts are of a romantic sort. You are free to ignore my words if you please, but if you could even consider feeling the same way, just write back and I will come to you in the night -- _

No.

Too forward, too big of a confession to make in her first letter to the countess in weeks. Too childish to consider that she could be having romantic feelings for another woman, especially one that had only existed in her thoughts for so long. She should be ashamed to even think these things - that much, she knew, so without hesitation she crumbled the paper on which her words were scrawled and walked across the room to the fireplace, tossing it into the flame and watching it spread across her fine handwriting, the brightness consuming any remains of her romantic feelings.

Mary returned to the desk after that and returned to her seat, pulling another piece of paper to in front of her and dipping her quill in ink in order to begin writing once more. She would have to be a little more subtle now; perhaps hint at a friendship that she would like to pursue, even though when she thought of Natasha all she could imagine was how nice her perfume smelled and how much she wanted to pull her warm body close and protect her from any sorrow that may come her way again.

Дорогая Наташа, she began, but her quill stilled rather quickly after she finished the final letter. She remembered that Natasha was ill - perhaps her eyes were too tired to read a complex letter detailing everything that Mary wanted to tell her. With a heavy sigh of frustration, she tossed that beginning into the fire as well, and collapsed into an armchair with her head in her hands. She needed to do something. Find some way to contact Natasha again - and if letters were not the way to do that, what was? A physical visit? She was not supposed to leave the house without permission.

Her head lifted up immediately, however, as an idea made its way into her head. Mary got to her feet, and with a speed and pep that she had long thought impossible for her, made her way back to the desk, dipped her quill in ink, returned a piece of paper to its rightful spot, and began to write. Not to Natasha this time, no - this letter was to be addressed to Marya Dmitriyevna, asking permission to come visit the countess and requesting that Marya speak to her father about said visit. Reassuring that her plan was not to upset Natasha, but rather to have a civil conversation with her and perhaps work towards becoming friends even with the relationship to her brother ended.

If all went according to plan, she would be visiting her within two weeks, and she would figure out a plan to reveal her feelings sometime before then. She knew that, with Natasha’s relationships to men, the chances of her being interested in other women were slim - especially with the disgust that relationships like the one she was fantasizing about were considered with. She could not help her emotions, however, and she knew that she could not help loving Natalya Rostova, no matter how much she wished she could stop and have a male suitor like any other woman in Moscow.

Andrei entered the office as she was signing her name, and she had to quickly fold the letter over to avoid him seeing it. She would have to find some way to mail it, knowing that her brother would be unhappy about it even if he were to claim that he didn’t care much about what Natasha did with herself now that their relationship was through. “Have you finished that letter yet?” he asked, walking over to her and gently putting his hands on her shoulders.

“I just did,” she answered, looking up to give him a small smile. “I will probably end up mailing it soon. Did Pierre leave?”

“Yes, he said that he needed to go home and have a talk with his wife.” Andrei walked over to the bookshelf, skimming his hand over the bindings and titles written in fine gold. “Mary, have you been doing alright? Like I said earlier, I noticed that Father has become a lot more demanding on you since I left to fight in the war. It can’t be very good for you.”

“He’s just a tired old man, dear brother,” she responded, getting up from the desk and walking over to stand beside him at the bookshelf. She found what she was looking for quickly, plucking Andrei’s favorite book from the shelf and holding it out to him - he took it with a grateful smile. “You were gone for a long time. He’s aged - I think he was so worried about you that it took a toll on his mind. He’s much more needy than he used to be.”

“Father has just been getting worse since Mother died,” Andrei sighed sadly. “I’m glad you’re here for him, regardless of how badly he treats you. He needs you.”

A pang of guilt, and Mary hoped that he didn’t see her wince.

“I’m glad I’m here too.”

**Author's Note:**

> please feel free to leave a kudos and comment if you enjoyed. let me know if you want this to continue.


End file.
